


the fires of biotransference

by Indices



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, One-Sided Frenemies?, Other, References to Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 06:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indices/pseuds/Indices
Summary: What would it take for a human to carve themselves away, as did the Necrontyr of old?In the aftermath of Cadia, Trazyn ponders.





	the fires of biotransference

Trazyn paced the Solemnace Galleries in silence. 

That little altercation with Abbadon’s troops had depleted some of his most prized artifacts. Not to mention the damage wrought by that infernal bell, heralding the Despoiler’s arrival. Compared with all that he had collected, they were the quantitative equivalent of mere grains of sand in the desert, yet still he mourned the losses. Each unique in their own right—the Contemptor-Pattern Dreadnoughts, the Vostroyan Firstborn’s XXI Regiment, even the formidably single-minded Inquisitor Greyfax—all to buy time for the activation of the pylons. 

And in the end, what good did any of it come to? 

A tiny flicker of what could possibly be described as vicarious disappointment traced its way along his circuits. Belisarius Cawl had shown him nothing but enmity, but as a fellow scholar, it was hardly difficult to imagine the frustration of a project failed. Especially one that seemed so close to success. Especially one disrupted by outside interference.

At least Trazyn came away with something else. Arguably a grander prize than the lost, for who could doubt the historical significance of such a key player in the defense of Cadia? If he could smile, he probably would have. 

(Probably. It was probable. Not a definite, because he had been relieved of the ability so many aeons ago. But was it such a crime, to hazard a guess?)

It took a long time to decide on a fitting venue for the Lord Castellan’s display. By the time he was finished, Trazyn was thoroughly ill-inclined to undertake any personal missions in the near future. He dispatched a few agents to pursue leads that he had been considering, and resumed his pacing.

His thoughts returned to the Cadian Pylons. 

It was a shame, really. Trazyn had lacked the personal investment that guided Cawl’s every action, that made the Archmagos Dominus work so feverishly at the command-node, as if possessed; but their joint effort performed surprisingly well. 'Surprisingly' not only because Cawl was a human techpriest, or even because of his high station, but because he had seemed to embody the essence of that peculiar Imperial xenophobia which even scientific curiosity could not overcome. 

Except, evidently, it could. And did. Even if it was only temporary. Indeed, for that short while, Cawl seemed to scarcely care about taking instructions from a supposed xenos 'abomination,' so long as he could understand the intricacies of the pylons. 

The obsession, Trazyn could understand. The drive to do more than know, to _comprehend_ , so deeply and meticulously that reality itself would be reduced to its component parts. In a way, it was close kin to the need to preserve, to catalog and archive away anything that could be of interest, so they could never be lost. Simply another way of giving meaning to existence. In this uncaring, ever-undulating universe, what better way to reassure oneself? _I think, therefore I am. I keep, therefore I will be kept._

But there was something more there. A coldness. He thought back to their conversation. _You, I think, have gladly sliced away your humanity piece by piece._

Before the Tomb Worlds were sealed—no, before even that, back when the Necrontyr still had souls—had he truly valued his own? Had any of them understood what a soul truly was? Not what it could do, nor what power could be derived from it, but what the soul of a living being meant to _that_ individual? 

Body and soul, soul and body. One gone and the other replaced.

Surely they had their own philosophies, their own seminaries on the topic. It was difficult to remember. Trazyn did not like to think about that time, nor what came immediately after. The galaxy now was infinitely more fascinating. Why be dragged down by the past, when one could do just the reverse? 

Still, he had meant what he said about Cawl. His ruthlessness had been vaguely compelling, in a tiresome way. Not entirely beyond admiration. But it was the way that one ought to admire a Carnifex, or a Tesseract Labyrinth. If not from a distance, then safely contained. And then there was the ever-present sense of seeing old mistakes play out again, only in slightly different permutation. To meet again would be a disaster. 

The thing about disasters, Trazyn thought, was that they were usually interesting.

Satisfied with his walk-around in this particular section of the Gallery, he paused at the exit and looked back one last time. Every artifact in its place. Things could be worse.

As he walked out, the lights dimmed behind him, leaving the displays to their echoing, phantasmal dark.


End file.
